Stars before the dawn
by Sirius' Polaris
Summary: At the age of 17, Wendy and Peter Pan are barely considered children when they first meet on a cold winter night...
1. Peter

To any and all readers out there:

I haven't written for a while on this story, I know, but I have one thing to say before I update:

**This fic is NOT based on the movie.**

I, too, hate it when people just use the movie/book/whatever and add in their own insights etc. while saying that it's "their" story. I just used the scene when Wendy and Peter meet and altered some of the descriptions. Most of the other things are different:

Wendy doesn't look like she does in the movie. Neither does Peter.

They're both 17 (this is in the summary, I think)

Neverland is similar but not exactly the same

Tinkerbelle

I'm going to spoil it if I say any more...so please read and be patient if it seems similar to the movie, because I can't avoid that!

Thanks!

_Sirius's Polaris_After watching the new movie _Peter Pan_, I wondered what would happen if Peter and Wendy were old enough to still barely be considered "children" (17 years old), but definitely old enough to actually fall in love. Anyway, here's my one-shot take on what their first meeting might have been like (I may expand this)

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I had not returned to the place of my birth for many years. The snow lay blue-white in the moonlit silence, and the great squares were empty save for sleigh tracks. London was dark, and the lanterns—and the great clock tower of Big Ben—were lit, glowing softly. So familiar and yet so strange. I remembered the route well, but I still had an unsettled feeling.

There it was—the window of the nursery. Below me, on the step of the beloved and yet vaguely-remembered house, the door opened to reveal golden light spilling out onto the snow. Two figures—a man and a woman, both heavily wrapped—stepped out and into a waiting sleigh. No one was home. How convenient for me. I had wanted to return to my room for a long, long time (something I no longer measured, for time was something counted only by those who would grow old; I thought I was about 17.), and tonight I had an excuse—my shadow had escaped from me during a chase through London, returning to my old home, where it knew I would find it.

Oddly, there was a soft glow in the nursery window. I flew closer and looked inside. There was my crib—I remembered my mother bending over me, her beautiful tawny hair let down for the night, singing a lullaby for my ears alone. And there was my bed, the bed in which I slept for a year before I ran away to Neverland with Tinkerbelle. I was assaulted by the terrible memory that had made me vow never to return to this place: that of flying to the window, expecting a welcome from my parents, and seeing _another_—a boy who was unmistakably my brother, with my same tousled sandy-blond hair and sea-green eyes—asleep in _my_ bed as my mother sang a goodnight lullaby to him. They had forgotten me, and I had flown away, sobbing, into the night…

I realized that I was gripping the window frame. Shaking my head, I focused on the glow and saw that it was a kerosene lantern, burning on the last of its fuel. This was mildly interesting, but I turned my attention longingly to my old bed. Something made me start, and I stared through the window, squinting. Someone was in _my _bed!

This would not do. I eased up the window sash, wincing at the creaking sound it made, and flew silently into the room. I noted two other beds, each with an occupant, but they did not interest me. I could not see the person in the bed, who had the covers pulled up over their face. Even more curious, I floated above the bed and descended slowly until I was within arm's length of the cover.

I reached out carefully, and the person shifted. I jerked my hand back. They were still again, and I reached out once more. As I was about to touch the cover to pull it back, it was pushed aside, and I found myself looking into two wide, deep-green eyes set in the most terrifyingly beautiful face I had ever seen.

Amazed and absolutely terrified, I jerked back so fast that I hit the ceiling. I stared into that face for a second that lasted an eternity, then—still looking at her—flew through the window as fast as I could.

Outside, I clung to a chimney, my whole body shaking. I had never seen anything like that girl, if she was human. I could not go back in there, if I wanted to not die of a heart attack, but I had to. My shadow was in there, and I couldn't abandon it. However…those eyes had shot through me with the combined force of ice and fire. I couldn't…but I must. Taking a deep breath, I peered through the window. The girl was asleep again. I sighed with somewhat disappointed relief and flew through the window.

Finding my shadow, I tried with the utmost quiet to make it stick, but it wouldn't. It enjoyed being free at last, and would not cooperate with me, no matter how hard I tried. Frustrated beyond belief, and forgetting everything but my shadow, I sat on the floor and cried angry tears.

"Boy, why are you crying?"

The voice, low and soft, startled me completely. I leaped up and stood akimbo, facing _her_. She was very much awake and staring at me with mingled fear, curiosity, and pity. I hadn't been imagining her unbelievable beauty, either. She was about my age, 16 or 17, barely considered a "child", and only then because the nursery was probably more convenient for her parents to furnish.

"I- I wasn't c-crying," I stammered, my face going hot.

"You were."

By now, I had regained some semblance of control. "Who are you?"

"Wendy Angela Darling. What is your name?" Her forehead creased in a half-frown; I did not know the meaning of this, but it didn't matter. She was speaking to me!"Peter. Peter Pan."

"Well, Peter, why were you crying?"

I shrugged, trying desperately to act casual. "My shadow won't stay." I showed her the shadow clenched tightly in my fist, still struggling to get away. I glared at it, and it stuck out its tongue at me.

She smiled, bewitching me. "Here." She pushed the covers aside and got up, bare legs swinging over the side beneath her frilly white nightgown. I watched as she walked to her dresser and got out a needle and thread. She sat down by me. "This may hurt a little."

Having your shadow sewn to your feet does hurt, but I'd had worse. Besides, just having her so close to me made the pain disappear. I'd never met anyone like this.

I stood up, and sure enough, my shadow stuck! "Oh, the cleverness of me!" I declared.

She looked upset. "And I did nothing."

"What? Oh, you did a little." I could feel my face growing hot again. I hadn't meant to insult her at all, but had merely said what I always said to the Lost Boys in Neverland. To them, "you did a little" meant that I was giving them full credit for a deed.

She climbed back in bed. "Good night, Peter Pan." She turned away from me and pulled up the covers.

I cursed myself mentally for being so stupid. I went and stood by her bed, and bent over her, my whole body tingling strangely. "Wendy…" I paused. "One girl is worth ten boys."

She shifted and looked at me, the beginning of a smile appearing. I smiled back, my confidence renewed, as she sat up and then got out of bed again. She had an odd smile on her face, and I looked at her, confused.

"I should like," she said slowly, an odd expression on her face, "to give you a kiss." She came and stood very close, and closed her eyes, her face tilted up toward mine. My face refused to cool off. Something was happening here, but I didn't know what a kiss was. What kind of word was that? She said she wanted to give me a kiss. I held out my hand to take it. When she kept her eyes closed, I cleared my throat. Her eyes opened, and she looked at me, confused. "Don't- don't you know what a kiss is?"

"I shall know when you give me one," I said, more confused than ever.

She looked oddly disappointed, and searched around for a moment before handing me a small metal object that I discovered could fit over the end of my finger. Understanding, I pulled a large seed off my necklace and handed it to her. She smiled and took it. "Someday," she said, "I should like to give you a thimble."

Once again I was confused, but on one issue my mind was made up. "Come with me, Wendy," I said. "Come to Neverland."

Her face lit up, making me step backward involuntarily—it was unsettling in its beauty—and she said, "Yes, I will come." Then she looked toward the other little beds, which I had forgotten completely. "What about John and Michael?"

"Who?" My brain was in a fog.

"My little brothers. May they come?"

"Wha- Sure, of course." I had no idea what she was talking about.

She woke them up, two little boys. John had glasses and Michael, the younger, had reddish hair and freckles. They remained half awake until I made them fly, then they excitedly flew about the room and zoomed out the window. I sprinkled fairy dust on Wendy as well, and she rose to the ceiling, gasping with wonder.

I flew out the window, expecting her to be right beside me, and was surprised when I turned to see her standing looking back into the nursery. "Wendy?"

"Mother! Father! Nana!" she said softly.

This would not do. I flew back and took her by the shoulders as gently as I could. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time. She stiffened with surprise, but then relaxed and glanced back at me. I whispered in her ear, "Come away with me. Come away to Neverland, where you'll never, ever have to worry about grown-up things again."

She turned to me, those amazing eyes lit up again, and my hand found hers. "Never," she said softly, "is an awfully long time."

I looked into her eyes as a smile slowly spread across my face.

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Okay, before you review or anything, read the second part! It's from Wendy's point of view and it'll help round out the situation better. Thanks:) 


	2. Wendy

Now here's Wendy's point of view:

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Wendy: 

I awoke and turned over in my warm bed, drowsily looking out the window. It was night, but the sky was that blue-gray color with undertones of purple that made me think that it was going to snow again before morning. The nursery still smelled of Michael's nighttime cinnamon roll snack, and the lamp glowed softly in the corner. I was almost glad to have awoken and experienced this moment. Sighing, I smiled and closed my eyes, drifting into a hazy dreamland.

I dreamed I was in the nursery, and John was standing outside the window. What a strange thing to do! I smiled in my sleep and the image faded to one of a warm fire and hot cocoa with my cousins on Christmas Eve. The dream made me snuggle farther under my warm covers until only the top of my head was visible.

Once again, I dreamed of the nursery, and John was opening the window. I was too warm and sleepy to go help him, so I stayed under the covers. I was drifting back into sleep for the second time when I felt the draft of icy air and realized that the window really had been opened.

I stiffened under my covers, and thought of all the stories of monsters that came in the night for little children, although I was 17 and no longer believed in those things. I lay still, listening intently, and heard a soft whooshing sound, then the sound of soft footsteps. They sounded like an adult's, but lighter, as if the person had no shoes on. What a ridiculous idea! Who would not wear shoes in the middle of winter? I was beginning to think that I was just having a very real dream when I felt a presence directly _above_ me.

How was that possible? Perhaps it was a tall adult bending over my bed, yet they seemed to be higher above me than any adult I had yet met. A ghost! Unwillingly, I gripped the covers and thrust them aside.

I was staring straight into the sea-green eyes of an incredibly handsome young man with tousled sandy-golden hair. His expression went from curious to astonished to terrified in an instant, and, unbelievably, he was _floating_ above my bed! He jerked back so fast that he hit the ceiling, then flew outside.

Doubting my sanity and the abilities of the cook at last night's restaurant, I pinched myself—it hurt—and rolled over, firmly shutting out the world with my bedcovers.

One dream later, I realized that the window really had been open and awoke with a start.

This was real. I didn't understand it, but that didn't take away from the reality of the boy—actually a young man about my age—sitting on the floor near the foot of my bed, shoulders shaking with sobs. I examined him curiously. He was lean and well-muscled, to the point where his arms were well-defined even when relaxed, and he was dressed in strange clothes that looked like something out of a play about the Indians in America—short brown pants/rags and odd straps that looked like leafy vines crisscrossing his shoulders. He did not wear a shirt, and his feet were bare and dirty.

"Boy," I began, feeling a strange catch in my throat. "Why are you crying?"

He whirled so fast that I jerked back, startled, and stood before me, arms akimbo in a kind of strange, almost militaristic stance. "I wasn't crying", he said defiantly, but it came out as a stammer.

"You were."

He crossed his arms. "Who are you?"

I looked curiously at him. His expression was nothing short of laughable, though he seemed to have a great deal of confidence when he wasn't staring at me with absolute…fascination. His eyes, which went well with his sandy-blond, tousled hair, were the deepest, clearest sea-green I had ever seen, and he a tanned face and strong, handsome features. I found it difficult to answer for a moment, and frowned at my somewhat childish answer.

"Wendy Angela Darling. What is your name?"

"Peter. Peter Pan."

"Well, Peter, why were you crying?"

He shrugged, and it seemed that he was having some kind of internal struggle. "My shadow won't stay." He held up something that looked like a black piece of cloth until it moved and I saw that it _was_ his shadow. It stuck out its tongue at him. I smiled.

"Here," I said, ignoring the fact that this was just as strange as his ability to fly—or had I imagined that? I stood up and walked to the dresser. Opening the top drawer, I got out my needle and thread. I went and sat on the floor by him, unconsciously noting how warm he was compared to the still-open window, and took hold of the shadow, which began to struggle. "This may hurt a bit."

He nodded vaguely, a faraway look in his eyes, and I began to sew. He didn't even flinch, but had a half-smile on his face when I finished. He stood up and inspected his shadow, which once again obeyed his every motion. Handsome face lit with joy, he flashed me a cocky smile and cried, "Oh, the cleverness of me!"

I frowned at him. "And I did nothing."

He grinned at me. "Oh, you did a little."

I stared, then shrugged and turned away from him, climbing into bed. "Good night, Peter Pan," I said, not missing the sudden look of confusion on his face.

I didn't hear anything for a moment, and with a sudden flash of disappointment I thought that the dream was over, that the rude but oh-so-handsome boy was gone and I would never see him again. I found out otherwise, feeling warmth on my back as Peter Pan leaned over my bed. My whole body went tense as he said softly, "Wendy…one girl is worth ten boys."

Feeling strangely giddy, I turned to look up into those sea-green eyes, my face alight with a stupid smile. He grinned and stood akimbo once again as I got out of bed slowly.

I could hardly believe myself as I said softly, "I should like…to give you a kiss." Before I could stop myself, I was walking toward him and stopping before him, face tilted upward, eyes closed. Nothing happened. My hope was beginning to crumble when he cleared his throat and my eyes snapped open. I looked at him, confused: he was holding out his hand as if to take something. "Don't- don't you know what a kiss is?"

His eyes held a strange expression, a kind of smoldering, but he only said, "I shall know when you give me one."

What a strange boy! I realized that he meant a material object, so I hunted around for a moment before handing him a thimble. He looked at it, then, satisfied, put it on the end of his finger and pulled a large seed off his necklace. Handing it to me—he smelled of the forest and wonderful spices—he looked at me as if for approval. I smiled and took it from him. "Someday," I said, "I should like to give you a thimble." He did not understand, and I did not mean for him to. Not yet.

The strange expression on his face did not go away, and I was about to ask him if he was well when he turned a burning gaze on me and said in a voice that was somewhat hoarse, "Come with me, Wendy. Come to Neverland."

I didn't care if he was real or a dream (though my heart told me that he was real). I didn't care about anything. All I wanted was to stare into his ageless eyes the color of the sea, smell the forest and spices, and sit within range of his powerful warmth. But where was Neverland? My face lit up as I realized that it was his home. "Yes, I will come." His face regained its astonished look for a moment and he took a step backward—I still could not figure out what that look was for—then regained his composure and smiled at me with a look that made me believe that I was the only thing he saw at the moment. Flustered, I looked toward my brothers' beds. "What about John and Michael?"

"Who?" He honestly seemed unaware that there were others in the room.

"My little brothers. May they come?"

"Wha- Sure, of course."

I woke up John and Michael, who protested at the intrusion until Peter sprinkled fairy dust on them and they flew around the room shouting. I tried to get them to be quiet, and they flew out the window. Startled, I ran after them, but Peter Pan grabbed my arm. "They'll be fine," he said. "Besides, you can't fly. Yet." He sprinkled fairy dust on me in a golden-white shower, and I rose to the ceiling, gasping with wonder at the incredulity of it and the sheer feeling of being weightless.

Peter flew out the window, and I started to follow when something made me stop and turn back toward the nursery and the three empty little beds. How could I leave without saying goodbye or where I was going? Mother and Father would be worried sick! I clenched my hand to stop from biting my nails, a habit I had had since I was very small.

"Wendy?" Peter's voice came from behind me.

"Mother! Father! Nana!" I said softly, more to myself than to him. Suddenly I felt the cold of the open window once again.

He came up behind me and took my shoulders in his hands, making an effort to be as gentle as possible despite his obvious ignorance of such things—he wore a sword and a dagger—and causing me to stiffen with surprise. Despite not daring to, I glanced back at him and found his face very near to mine. He brought his mouth to my ear and whispered, "Come away with me. Come away to Neverland, where you'll never, ever have to worry about grown-up things again."

I turned to face him, not realizing how close he was but staying where I was just the same, and did not pull away when he took my hand in his. "Never," I said slowly, "is an awfully long time."

He looked into my eyes as a smile slowly spread across his face.

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Please please please read and REVIEW! Should I continue this (go to Neverland, meet Hook etc.) or not? Please tell me what you think! Thanks much:)

**Me'shell**: What? What are you talking about? Wendy may be a Micronesian name, but this is ENGLAND, for crying out loud! You know, "flavour" instead of "flavor"? Yeah, that's all I have to say about that.


	3. The edge of the world

Hey all...sorry I haven't written in a while...I've had MAJOR (and I mean the kind that makes you depressed) writer's block for deleted two weeks! Grr! So yeah...reviewers, you guys are great, and I want to thank each of you personally, so here goes:

**Dark-Swan:**Thanks! I do intend to do some of this in first person, it really depends on the scene, but fear not I shan't (lol) do any more scenes (except maybe one near the end) from 2 POV's. I never intended on writing the movie word for word, I just had to "borrow" that scene where she meets him because it's so good! Actually, if you go back and read the very first part of the first chapter (the AN, which I added after you reviewed), I did mention that it's going to be a LOT different, a lot more psychological and it gets into the actual depth of the story (where Neverland comes from, why Peter won't grow up, etc.).

**WildPixieChild** and **Karaniya-broken:** Here you are! Sorry it's so short, it's meant to be this way, the next chapter (which I HAVE written) will be a lot longer I promise.

**LunaSoleil07: **Thank you! Yes, I decided while watching the movie that it would be really neat to see an age where they would still be (barely) considered children but could actually fall in love; also, the Neverland events (see the newly-added AN at the top of the first chapter) will not be the same as in the movie (which I really need to re-watch), but they'll be similar enough to keep to the story. I have to change a few things to keep to my version, which isn't really AU, it's more reality-based I guess, such as (see top review response) where Neverland actually came from, who the pirates really are, etc. I hope you continue to review!

**ScrewtheJediCode786: **I have not heard of these "Wiggles"...:backs away in fear and loathing:...but here is the next chappie!

**Harley: **Like you said, it won't copy the film/book (which I've only read a shortened version of so all original-book-lovers please don't flame TOO much!) exactly...and thank you for the criticism (which I probably need and VERY much appreciate), I won't be doing any more chapters-from-2-POV's except possibly one near the end. I only did the first one like this because I needed both their initial reactions at meeting one another. I hope you keep reading and reviewing!

**Kaiu: **I, too, am confused...I have no idea what the heck Me'shell (who has since taken his/her account off the site) was talking about. I'm glad you reviewed anyway!

_

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Wendy _

The land was very dark, as if all the lights in London had been covered with a fog. We flew—flew!—over the streets and alleys, snow-covered in the dimness far below. I gasped in wonder as we passed over the Thames, all the lights on the water shimmering in myriad colors like so many gems flashing in the display case at the jeweler's. Peter had a firm grip on my hand, and he smiled at my awed expression. How was this possible? I was sure I was still dreaming.

I shouted something of this nature to him, and he grinned. "Much of life is a dream," he shouted back, wind catching his hair and tossing it into his face. He faced forward again, and I saw that the horizon seemed to be shifting slowly, blending with the foggy light below to create a swirling mist of deep blue and starlight.

"What is that?" I was vaguely aware that John and Michael were nowhere to be seen.

He didn't hear me. I tugged on his hand insistently. He looked back, and I saw that he looked like he was concentrating on something, but then his face cleared, and he yelled, "What?"

"_What is_ _that_?" I pointed with my left hand to the horizon. He smiled, eyes lighting up as they rested on the glow that was beginning to form on the very edge of the mist.

"Neverland."

And then I felt my arm pull as if it was being ripped from its socket, and we were sucked into the edge of the world.

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Yes, I know this is short...I PROMISE THE NEXT ONE WILL BE LONGER! This is short because...well, because there is only one line in here that is really crucial to the rest of the story :grins evilly: Please, please review...I won't post until I get at least 5 reviews! Muhahahaha! lol anyway, I really do appreciate any feedback you have, and I love writing this, so please do review soon! 

Sirius' Polaris


	4. Mother

Here is the latest installment...I couldn't wait! And now to thank my lovely reviewers:

**AllyTubagirl: **Thanks! I couldn't wait to put up this next chapter, so here you are:) **LunaSoleil07: **Speculation time is over...heehee not really, I REALLY redid the book/movie for this fic, so there will be much more time for speculation. For example, note what she says about the Lost Boys' eyes...and please continue to review, I live for feedback!

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I came to slowly, blinking at the stripes of light and dark that covered my body. At least my face wasn't in the full sunlight, I thought groggily. I turned on my side, noting that the ground was quite warm, and realized that I was lying in the sand. Someone was crouched beside me, and I looked up to see a silhouette against the sun. 

"Who—"

"Are you awake?" Whoever it was, they seemed puzzled. I held up a hand against the blinding sunlight, trying to see their face. The figure tilted its head, considering, then got to its feet with remarkable swiftness and held out a hand. I took it warily, and was pulled upward and into the shade of a palm tree, stumbling into a body and being steadied by two hands on my upper arms.

My eyes refocused and I found myself staring into the green eyes of an eerily familiar face. The young man's eyebrow went up, and I saw that he was quite good looking, but...who was he? And why wasn't he wearing a shirt—I looked down and was horrified to find myself in my nightgown, sand stuck to the soles of my bare feet, which were nearly touching his...all at once, several sensations hit me, most notably the fact that we were less than a foot apart, his hands still unconsciously holding my arms.

Gasping, I stumbled back into the sunlight. "Who are you?" I stammered. This was _most _improper. "Where—where am I?"

"Neverland," he said, frowning from where he stood in the shade. "Don't you remember, Wendy-lady?"

_Neverland..._Suddenly, the events of last night flooded over me. "I..." I turned to be met with a beautiful blue ocean, the likes of which I had never seen. "I'm still dreaming, aren't I?"

"You're not dreaming." The boy..._Peter. Peter Pan._ He sat down in the shade, and began to unpeel a banana. "I brought you here, remember?"

"But...where is 'here'?"

"Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning," he said matter-of-factly, as if this unbelievable breach in the laws of physics and nature didn't have any significance at all.

"No..." I walked back to the tree and sat down, but not too close to him, rubbing my temples. "We must be _somewhere_ on Earth, this looks a bit like the Caribbean, my parents took me there once..." _My parents. _Mother and Father must be worried sick. How long had I been gone? At least half a day, from the looks of things. And where were John and Michael?

"My brothers? Where are they?" I demanded.

Peter nearly dropped the banana, startled. "Who?" he asked quizzically.

"John and Michael. My brothers. What have you done with them?"

"I haven't done anything. They're over there, sleeping." He gestured contemptuously to two pairs of feet sticking out from underneath a makeshift shelter of palm fronds and sticks.

"I have to get out of here, I have to go..." My voice was escalating in volume. Peter did drop the banana this time, reaching over and pressing his palm against my mouth to silence me. He jerked his hand away just as quickly, but the shock of his touch had stopped my train of thought.

"You must stay, Wendy," he said, eyes unreadable.

"But I—my parents..."

"Time works differently here," he said, turning to gaze across the sea. "They won't know you're gone."

"How long will I stay here?"

"However long you choose." His eyes looked troubled, though I couldn't fathom why. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but was interrupted by war whoops coming from the jungle. His eyes lit, and he stood, uttering a cry that made the hairs stand on the back of my neck.

"PETER!" A herd of unruly boys, all somewhere between the ages of twelve and fifteen, came tumbling out of the jungle. I stared. They were all dressed similarly to him, in outfits I had seen only in books about "savages", and their faces were painted with stripes and other designs. Some had feathers in their hair. They ran at Peter, dropping bows and other handmade weapons, and he went down in a pile of arms, legs, and laughing boys.

He managed to push them off, and got to his feet with them arrayed in front of him, gazing admiringly at their leader. "Lost Boys," he announced dramatically, "I have brought you a new mother."

A new _what!_ I glanced at Peter, but he ignored me. The Lost Boys turned as one and looked at me silently.

"What is it?" one asked. He was shorter than the rest, and had curly hair. He looked younger as well, and seemed to generally be the runt of the group.

"'It' is a lady, Curly," said another derisively. He was taller and had odd blue eyes. "Hello, Mother. My name is Toodles." Now that I looked at them, they _all_ had blue eyes. How strange. I looked at the boy, flustered. He had his hand out as if to shake.

Peter coughed and shook his head at the boy. Toodles looked at him, then, as if remembering something, took off his cap and held it in one hand as he gravely bowed to me, war paint and all. I would have laughed had I not been so confused. Then, however, a strange feeling came over me—I _wanted_ to be the mother of these boys, who seemed to have a childlike sorrow in their eyes when they looked at me, I wanted to tell them stories, and—the thought came unbidden to me—_I wanted to never leave them..._

"Hello, Toodles. Hello, Curly. Hello, boys," I said slowly. I didn't frown when they replied in excited unison, "Hello, Mother."

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As I said, this fic is a slightly different version; it's not exactly AU, but almost. Their relationship will be _quite _different than in the movie, and Tinkerbell...ooh, I can't _wait_ to write her into the fic. Please review! 

Sirius' Polaris


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